


Here and Now

by Skyshadow3246, Wolfloner



Series: Finding Beauty in Negative Spaces [22]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Anal Play, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Peter Parker/Top Wade Wilson, Dildos, Domestic Fluff, Enthusiastic Consent, Hurt/Comfort, Loki is a Good Dad, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, POV Peter Parker, POV Wade Wilson, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Schizophrenic Wade Wilson, Sex Toys, Talking, Wade Wilson Needs A Hug, actually talking out issues, college applications are dumb, discussion of consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-07
Updated: 2018-11-07
Packaged: 2019-08-20 11:48:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16555214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyshadow3246/pseuds/Skyshadow3246, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolfloner/pseuds/Wolfloner
Summary: “Sometimes,” Peter whispered, “I miss when stuff was normal.”“What did normal look like?”“Go to school. Paper route in the summers. Biggest worry being a test or dealing with Flash or practicing enough to try to get at least third chair in band.” He couldn't quite hold back a sob. “My nightmares used to be about forgetting how to play a trumpet. Now it's all getting crushed by buildings or being eaten by giant wolves or getting killed by my boyfriend.”Peter and Wade finally sit down and talk things out.





	Here and Now

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, SpideyPool time! Took me a few days, but overall I'm very happy with this. :) (especially the last scene, he he he)
> 
> (This chapter concludes the SpideyPool angst for a while! Hooray!)

_ This fear has me chilled down to the bone _

_ And I have been haunted by these things I still have left to say _

_ I'm weary of fighting this alone _

_ So tired of holding onto strings much better left to fray _

\--Seether,  _ Here and Now _

 

It wasn’t until Peter dragged them back through the window that he realized that his side still hurt. A lot. His suit was sticking to the area, and when he felt at it, he realized it was tacky with blood. 

 

He’d been so focused on the pain in his shoulder that he’d completely forgotten about the bullet that had grazed his side, under his ribs.

 

“Damn it,” he muttered, deactivating the suit and carefully peeling it away from his skin.

 

“Peter?”

 

“I’m good.” He tried to sound reassuring, but he couldn’t quite hold back the grimace as the suit pulled at the clotting injury. 

 

“That’s  _ not _ good, Peter.” Wade admonished, moving over to assist. And honestly, Peter was grateful for the help. The pain was nothing compared to the gunshot but it was unpleasant enough that he was struggling to put himself through it. He grit his teeth and determinedly refused to make a sound until his suit dropped to the floor and he was able to step out of it.

 

“You gonna change or are you just planning to wear that all night?” Peter aimed for teasing, but knew it fell flat, his voice was too tight. Wade had only gotten so far as taking his mask off before helping Peter with his own suit.

 

“I’m so,  _ so _ fucking sorry, Peter.” Wade said, not moving from where Peter had grabbed onto his arm for balance, his eyes locked onto his side. 

 

“I know. But you weren’t you, Wade. You weren’t the one shooting at me.”

 

“I was,” Wade insisted. “It wasn’t like I was just watching myself shoot at you, I  _ was _ shooting at you.” Peter’s stomach dropped. “But you weren’t… you? You looked like Spidey, and you moved like Spidey, and holy shit did you kick my ass like Spidey,” Wade flashed him a quick half-hearted grin. “But my brain stopped making the connection. It was like you were--” he froze.

 

“Wade?” He tightened his grip on Wade’s arm. “What was I?”

 

Wade stared very intently at the wall of photos that Peter had hung up in their room. “It was a mission,” Wade finally said, stiffly, “and you were my target.” Wade was quiet for a moment. “I don't think I've ever wasted 5 bullets trying to kill a single target, before.”

 

“Is… is that a complement, or?” 

 

He shrugged. 

 

Peter was grateful, he supposed. Between his speed and his Senses he'd been able to avoid any fatal shots. He doubted Deadpool had ever  _ wasted _ a bullet before. 

 

He let his arm drop. “I need to shower,” he said turning away and, well, Peter wouldn't call it fleeing, necessarily. A momentary retreat to collect his thoughts is all it was.

 

The shower was a good idea. He stood carefully under the spray of water, avoiding letting it hit his injured side. Loki had done an excellent job with his shoulder. If he hadn't experienced it, he'd have never been able to tell he'd been shot. 

 

He was having a hard time telling if his side had actually stopped bleeding or not. He was able to clean away the worst of the blood, but there always seemed to be more.

 

Eventually he gave up and left the shower. He pulled on a pair of boxers and grabbed a washcloth to sacrifice so that he could keep pressure on his side. 

 

Returning to the bedroom he found that Wade had also showered and was now in thick sweatpants and an over-large hoodie. Hiding without hiding.

 

“Hey,” he greeted softly. He was torn between feeling relief that Wade had changed--he wondered how long seeing  _ Deadpool _ was going to bother him?--and distress at the way that Wade was covering up again. “Are you hurt?”

 

Wade finally looked over at him. “No.” His eyes fell to the washcloth that Peter was holding to his side. “Are you?”

 

“Not really,” Peter said with a shrug, gingerly sitting down on the bed. 

 

But Wade crawled over as soon as he sat down. “Let me look,” he insisted.

 

Peter was so surprised by Wade's firm tone that he didn't even think about refusing. Wade moved the washcloth away from his side, and carefully inspected it. “Is it still bleeding?” Peter asked.

 

“I don't think so.” Wade was frowning. “But it looks pretty deep. You might need stitches.”

 

Peter groaned. “No. It'll be fine. I have my superhuman healing and all. Besides, I can't very well just go into a hospital with a gunshot wound and not get asked way too many questions.”

 

Wade sat up. “I can stitch it up for you.”

 

“Do we even have stuff for that here?”

 

“Yeah, I have that whole bag of medical shit, remember?”

 

He shifted uncomfortably. He trusted Wade's judgement on this, but, “I don't like needles,” he admitted.

 

“Aww, baby boy,” Wade pressed a soft kiss to his forehead and Peter had to keep himself from just melting against him. Hearing the nickname loosened something in Peter's chest that he hadn't known was there.

 

“What does it feel like?” He asked.

 

“You've never had stitches before?”

 

“Not that I can remember.” He thought about it for several moments. “I guess it's better to do it and have it be unnecessary than the alternative.”

 

Once he had something approaching agreement Wade left the bed and returned with a small box of medical supplies that Peter preferred not to look at too closely. 

 

“I thought you hated medical stuff?” Peter asked after Wade guided him to lay on his uninjured side.

 

“I do.” Peter flinched at the sting from what smelled like antiseptic. “When it's me,” he continued. Peter could feel Wade tracing along the outside of the wound. “I think four stitches should be fine. What do you think?”

 

Peter felt like maybe he should have some thought about it, he'd grown up with Aunt May after all. She had definitely talked about her job enough,  _ something _ should have stuck. But he was coming up blank. “Sure?”

 

“Alright Petey, big pinch.”

 

“Big pi-? Fuck!” He wasn't sure why he was surprised by the fact that this felt kind of like being stabbed. He could fucking  _ feel _ the curve of the needle as it passed through his body. “That was not a “big pinch”, Jesus Christ.”

 

“Sorry,” Wade didn't sound very sorry at all. 

 

“Shit that's unpleasant.”

 

“You swear a lot when you're in pain.” Peter turned his head enough to glare at Wade, who was smirking at him. “Suture time.” 

 

The thread or suture or whatever Wade wanted to call it was awful in a totally different way. It was like getting a slow paper cut. He let out a sigh of relief when Wade tied it off and clipped off the extra threads. 

 

“You did great. Now just three more.”

 

“Fuck me,” Peter whined. 

 

He expected some sort of quip or a chuckle or  _ something _ from Wade, but instead his complaint was met with silence. He glanced back up, “Wade?”

 

“Yeah, sorry, sorry. I'm here.” Peter had a pretty good guess at where Wade's thoughts had gone, but he was surprised at how it looked like Wade had had to snap himself back to the present. “Stitch number two.”

 

Wade was practically silent as he finished stitching Peter up, only speaking to let him know what he was about to do.

 

Once he was done, Peter carefully rolled onto his back so that he could properly look at his boyfriend, who was busy replacing items back into the small medical kit. 

 

“Thank you.”

 

Wade just nodded and returned the kit to his bag. 

 

“I'm sorry,” Peter said softly. Wade's eyes snapped up to his. “I shouldn't have said that, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable.”

 

“What?” Wade blinked. “No, that's not-- You didn't make me uncomfortable.”

 

Peter patted the other side of the bed, and Wade laid down next to him. “Then what’s wrong?”

 

“I want to,” he said quietly.

 

“Fuck me?”

 

“So much.”

 

“I know,” Peter let his confusion show in his tone. “You're not exactly shy about that fact, babe.”

 

Wade shifted. “I shot you.”

 

“Yeah, twice. I was there.”

 

That was met with a wide-eyed stare. “And you kicked my ass. Without hurting me.”

 

“I mean, I punched you in the face hard enough to knock you out. I wouldn't call that “without hurting you”, personally.”

 

“You didn't kill me,” he amended. “Or, try to kill me. Whatever. It was non-lethal force.”

 

“That's me, King of Non-Lethally taking people down.”

 

“And you only had one arm!”

 

“Wade, is there a point to all this?”

 

“The  _ point _ Peter, is that not only are you the first person I've ever targeted to survive, you fucking handed my ass to me like it was nothing.”

 

Peter nodded. Wondering how on Earth Wade's current thought process was connected to sex. 

 

“I'm fucking terrified, Pete.”

 

Peter sat up--too quickly,  _ Ow _ \-- “Of me?”

 

“No, no. Well, a little, but not in a bad way.”

 

“Not in a bad way?” Peter echoed.

 

“I'm terrified of  _ me _ . Knowing how easily you can take me down is like…” He waved his hands as he tried to figure out what he wanted to say. “It feels like permission to just do what I want?”

 

Peter frowned as anxiety licked up his neck. Not his Senses, for once, just regular anxiety. Which was a nice change, really. “What kind of things do you want to do to me that are so bad?”

 

Wade groaned, his head hitting the pillow. “I don’t know. Maybe nothing? But it just feels like bad knowledge for me to have.”

 

“Wade,” Peter said firmly. “Before today, if we were doing… whatever. It doesn’t matter what. If I said stop, would you have?”

 

“Of course.”

 

“And tomorrow? If we’re making out and you decide you want to go further, but I’m not feeling up to it, and tell you to knock it off? Will you?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Then what’s different? You’ve  _ never _ pushed me for anything I didn’t want. Hell, you’ve frustrated me by being so goddamn careful about it. Why would that change just because you’ve figured out what I’ve been telling you from the start: I can  _ literally _ kick your ass with one hand tied behind my back.”

 

Wade frowned at his not-quite-a-joke. “Because sometimes I'm not… Sometimes I don't  _ think _ . I just…  _ do. _ ”

 

Peter laid back down, reaching over and twining Wade's fingers between his own. “Sometimes,” Peter acknowledged. “But that was the case anyway, wasn't it?”

 

“I guess so.”

 

“Then,” Peter said through a yawn, “we'll just deal with that if it comes up.”

 

Wade managed a smile, “Get some sleep, sweet boy. Today has been hell.”

 

Peter nodded. “You too.” His grip tightened on Wade's hand. “Don't leave.”

 

“I'm not going anywhere, I promise.”

 

* * *

 

The week was tense. Spending time with Wade--cooking, cleaning, playing games, watching TV and movies--none of it was as easy and comfortable as it had been just days before, but it was tolerable, all things considered. But nearly all forms of physical affection had come to a grinding halt. Neither of them seemed willing to instigate anything past kissing.

 

More importantly, Peter couldn't get himself to go patrolling with Wade. He went on his own, occasionally joined by one of the Avengers, and Deadpool, well, Peter wasn't totally sure what Deadpool was doing. He was patrolling too, and never came home smelling like blood or gunpowder, so that was probably fine.

 

The one time he'd been in the living room when Deadpool had returned home he'd reacted with such an irrationally strong sense of panic he'd hidden in the restroom and vomited up pretty much everything he'd eaten that day.

 

Wade hadn't said anything about his reaction, and Peter didn't even know  _ what  _ to say about it. But for the next few days they both did a better job of avoiding each other while Wade was still  _ Deadpool _ \--or at least when he was wearing the suit. Even if Wade wasn't quite himself mentally, so long as he wasn't decked out in red leather, Peter seemed to be alright.

 

He was ridiculously grateful when Tony gave him a call and asked if he minded popping over to the lab to help with something. Peter hadn't even bothered to ask what he was helping with before agreeing and heading over with a quick, “Tony needs some help with something,” to Wade.

 

Avoiding your boyfriend because you weren't sure how to talk about what was bothering you probably made you a shitty person. Peter was pretty sure of that, if nothing else. 

 

“Hey, Kiddo!” Tony greeted as he stepped into the lab. “You doing alright?”

 

Peter tensed before realizing that Tony probably just meant  _ physically _ . There was no way he could know about how he was suddenly having fucking nightmares about his boyfriend. “Yeah,” he said with a noncommittal shrug. 

 

Tony's music was quieter than usual, but still shy of a volume that would be properly comfortable for Peter. He didn't ask Tony to fix it, though, it somehow had the effect of making it easier to focus on the project he'd been called over for. 

 

Apparently Tony had injected himself with a few dozen computer chips--micro-repeaters, he called them--and used those to help control his Iron Man suits. They were able to assess  _ intent  _ from small twitches in Tony's muscles, as well as enhance JARVIS's ability to monitor his vital signs and any injuries he might sustain during a fight. 

 

The issue Tony wanted help with was that his newest suit, which was made of Nanobots, it turned out, wasn't interfacing properly with the chips, causing lag and unreliable readings.

 

Tony gestured for him to sit down and started explaining in more detail how both the chips and the Nanobots worked. He was a patient teacher and was happy to answer all of Peter's questions on the topic. 

 

It took the better part of two hours before Peter felt confident that he understood things well enough to start making plans or suggestions for improvements.

 

Eventually U rolled over, whirring aggressively and pushing a plate of sandwiches at them.

 

“Thanks, U,” Peter said, gratefully taking one. He hadn't even realized how hungry he has gotten. Tony sighed but seemed willing to allow the interruption.

 

“Mr. Stark,” Peter started, “it's not like I don't like helping with stuff, I really do! But uh, I have to ask. This kind of thing isn't really my forte. Why not ask Dr. Banner for help?”

 

“What do you mean not your forte?” Tony asked. “You helped with Bucky's arm, didn't you?”

 

Peter shrugged, that was true enough. “I mean, ok, yeah, but that was--”

 

“Besides, Bruce isn't answering his phone. Or, not when I call, at least.”

 

“What? Is he ok?”

 

“Oh yeah, he's fine. He answered when Steve called,” Tony waved away his concern. “He's just on a holier than thou “I told you so” trip.” He grabbed another sandwich before shoving the rest of the plate towards Peter. “Don't worry about it, kid. He'll get sick of me calling him in the middle of the night eventually and we'll talk it out.

 

Peter laughed and finished off the food. He wondered what they had argued about, but he got the impression that Tony didn't really want to talk about it.

 

They worked for another hour before they felt reasonably comfortable with the prototype. He watched Tony start running a program to simulate the new designs effectiveness.

 

“I appreciate the help, Peter,” Tony told him seriously.

 

Peter smiled easily, “Like I said, I like helping.” In truth Peter was pretty sure that Tony could have figured this out by himself, but he could understand wanting company while he worked. 

 

After Tony waved him off and told him to have good night while he went back to another project--something about a golden feather-- Peter hesitated in the elevator.

 

“Hey, JARVIS?”

 

“Yes, Mr. Parker?”

 

“Is…” he faltered. “I'm not ready to go home yet. Is there anyone up who might not mind some company?”

 

“One moment.” JARVIS was quiet for the better part of a minute. “Loki says that he's free.”

 

JARVIS directed Peter up to Loki and Tony's shared apartment. 

 

“Good evening, Peter,” Loki said as soon as Peter stepped out of the elevator. Peter did a double-take as he took in the sight of Loki sitting cross-legged in a chair, a notebook and pen in his lap, a knife in one hand, green light flowing from the fingertips of his other, all while wearing what Peter was pretty sure was a Stark Expo sweatshirt.

 

“I have that same shirt,” Peter blurted out rather than returning Loki's greeting.

 

Loki glanced up, giving him a curious look.

 

“Er, I mean. It's way too small now, since I got it when I was 8, but.” He cut himself off. “Sorry, you don't care. Hi. Good evening.”

 

With a flick of his hand the knife was gone, and Loki picked up the notebook and pen before unfolding himself from the chair and standing up. “Are you alright?”

 

“Yeah.”  _ Liar _ . “No. I don't know,” he admitted, gingerly stepping into the room and sitting on the edge of the couch. 

 

When Loki sat next to him and asked, “What's wrong?” Peter let himself fall heavily onto the couch.

 

“It's stupid,” he said, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I'm a terrible boyfriend.”

 

“I doubt that.”

 

Peter didn't respond, he didn't know what to say. He didn't know why he was there. But he couldn't handle going home and feeling that ever present  _ fear _ and _ guilt _ . Loki didn't say anything more, either. He just let Peter sit and take his time figuring out what to say.

 

“Deadpool is really fucking dangerous,” he finally managed, dropping his hands to his lap.

 

“You knew that,” Loki didn't bother disagreeing with him. Peter was grateful for it. He didn't need or want platitudes or assurances right then.

 

“Yeah, but, it's like…” Peter sighed. “I know he's killed people. A lot of people. Mostly bad people. Or, what he considers to be bad people, I guess, I don't really know who qualifies. I've never asked. I don't know that I want to know. How do you even ask something like that? Hey, Wade, how do you decide who deserves to die?” His laugh was mirthless and closer to hysterical than he would have liked. 

 

He glanced over, but he couldn't read Loki's expression. Their eyes met, but the god's face stayed an unnervingly blank mask. But he was definitely listening intently to what Peter was telling him.

 

“But it's not just… He doesn't just see bad people and kill them. Which, maybe I thought, or I hoped… but he  _ loves _ it. When we were in Valhalla, the second you said that it was ok to take those people down, he jumped at the chance.” He raked a hand through his hair.

 

“He told me how much he enjoys it. Doesn't feel the least bit bad about hurting people, either.” Peter could feel the corners of his eyes prickling, but he'd be damned before he cried. “I… I think the closest thing to guilt he feels about it is because I don't like it. And God damn it, sometimes the shit he says makes sense.”

 

He took several long steadying breaths, doing his best to get his emotions back under control. 

 

When Loki finally spoke his voice was uncharacteristically gentle, “Peter. Nothing you've said so far makes you sound like a terrible boyfriend.”

 

Peter shook his head. “I knew all this shit about him,” he continued. “I know it, and I accept it as much as I can, and I love him, but,” his voice cracked. “ _ He shot me _ .”

 

“He wasn't--”

 

“I know! He was cursed. It wasn't Deadpool shooting Spider-Man. And it wasn't Wade shooting Peter. But it. It also _ was _ .” He felt Loki hesitantly place a hand against his back and he swallowed. “I've been avoiding him. I'm  _ scared _ . And I shouldn't be. I  _ shouldn't _ \--” Shit, now he was crying. 

 

Without realizing it, at some point he had shifted and was leaning against Loki. As soon as he noticed he stiffened and pulled back. “Sorry.”

 

“I don't mind,” Loki assured him. 

 

After a moment's hesitation, Peter leaned back over. It reminded him of the times when Aunt May would comfort him when he got overwhelmed. He wished he could talk to her about this. About any of this. He was having to hide so much from her, it was starting to eat at him.

 

“Sometimes,” Peter whispered, “I miss when stuff was normal.”

 

“What did normal look like?”

 

“Go to school. Paper route in the summers. Biggest worry being a test or dealing with Flash or practicing enough to try to get at least third chair in band.” He couldn't quite hold back a sob. “My nightmares used to be about forgetting how to play a trumpet. Now it's all getting crushed by buildings or being eaten by giant wolves or getting killed by my boyfriend.”

 

His eyes burned but he didn't care anymore. “I'd be in college now. Maybe ESU. They have a great chem program, you know?” He frowned. “Registration is next month. I told Aunt May I was only going to be taking a year off, but how can I--”

 

“Peter.” Loki's voice was quiet, but firm, and it pulled him back to the present. “One thing at a time.”

 

“But--”

 

“No buts. You're going to start catastrophizing otherwise. Take a deep breath and listen to me.” 

 

Peter took in a long shaky breath. He didn't think it was actually all that deep, but he tried. 

 

“Good. Easiest thing first. Do you want to go to college?”

 

“Yes, but…” he trailed off.

 

“But what?”

 

“But I need to be able to help when things get crazy.”

 

“Tell me why college is important to you.”

 

Peter blinked. “It's. I need to go to college.”

 

“I understand that. Tell me why.”

 

“Because.” He paused, biting his lip. “Do you know what college  _ is _ ?” He asked.

 

Loki chuckled. “Yes, I know what college is. You said that ESU has a chemistry program. Why do you want into that program?”

 

“So I can help people,” his answer was instant.

 

“You help people as Spider-Man.”

 

Peter pulled back, “That's not the same.” Frustration tinged his voice. “It's not just a chem program, it's biochem. They offered me scholarships and I know I could get research grants and. I could help people. Not just stop muggings and the occasional alien. Medical treatments, mental health, youth outreach. I'm not  _ just _ Spider-Man, I'm Peter Parker, too.”

 

He froze. “Oh.”

 

“You're both.” Peter tried not to be irritated by Loki's smirk. “You need to balance it, and let yourself be both.”

 

“Thanks,” he said, feeling embarrassed for snapping at Loki like he had. “I guess I needed that.” Peter grabbed the front of his shirt, quickly wiping his face off. “Any thousand-year-old alien wisdom about what I should do about Wade?”

 

Loki laughed, “I'll do my best. What do you want to happen?”

 

“I want to not feel like I'm going to puke every time I see him as Deadpool.” He crossed his arms over himself,  _ guilt _ sinking into his bones. “I want to be able to go patrolling with him and not… I don't like being afraid.”

 

“You aren't going to like my advice.”

 

“Tell me anyway.”

 

“It's going to take time. You already know what you need to: that under normal circumstances he'd never harm you. I'm confident he feels guilty about it happening.”

 

“He does,” Peter confirmed. “I think he also got off on me kicking his ass.” Loki's face lit up in amusement, and it was hard not to return a smile. “But that's all you've got? Wait and eventually it'll get better?”

 

Loki nodded, “Or it won't,” he admitted. “But I think it will.”

 

“You were right, I don't really like that answer. What if it happens again?”

 

“Deadpool shooting you?”

 

“No, what if Váli curses him again?”

 

“He can't. That curse is, effectively, a one-time use spell. That's why Váli wasn't successful when he tried to curse you first.”

 

“At least there's that,” Peter said, relief washing through him. 

 

The relief was short lived, though. “Do you think I just need to wait for the other thing, too? The whole… Wade likes killing people, thing? Is that even something someone could get used to?”

 

Loki was quiet, giving him long considering look. “Possibly,” he finally answered. “Is that something you want to get used to?”

 

“I don't want to ask him to change.”

 

“That's not what I asked.”

 

Peter stared down at his hands. “Sometimes the stuff he says makes a lot of sense. There  _ are _ bad people out there. Bad enough that killing them is… I mean, not  _ good,  _ but.” He sighed. “How am I supposed to know how the hell he decides things like that, though?”

 

Loki's expression was patient. “Have you considered asking him?”

 

“What?”

 

“You told me you've never asked how he decides who deserves to die. Maybe you should.”

 

Peter stood up. “I think you're right. Thank you, Loki. For… all of that.”

 

“You're welcome. You know you can come to me at any time, right? Or Tony or any of us, really.”

 

“Yeah, I,” he hesitated. “I'll try to keep that in mind a bit better.”

 

* * *

 

**Wade**

 

Wade stretched out on the couch, looking at, but not seeing, the television in front of him. He wasn't even sure what he was watching anymore. Something about cooking, maybe?

 

It was well past 2am, and Peter was usually home by now. Unless he'd gotten caught up in a fight. But he'd just left to help Tony with something, right?

 

_ Or he's just finally left _ , Yellow hissed. 

 

_ No _ , Wade countered.  _ Shut up _ .

 

_ He would be better off. You  _ did _ shoot him, after all. _ As if White needed to remind him.

 

_ Yeah, _ Yellow continued,  _ you really screwed the pooch this time. But you didn't even do that right! You fucking missed! _

 

“Shut up!” Wade shouted, clasping his hands over his ears, as if that would help.

 

“Wade?” He hadn't heard the door open, but Peter was standing beside the couch, looking down at him. “Are they getting loud?”

 

Wade jumped to his feet, gently cradling Peter's face in his hands. His eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, and his voice was hoarse. “What happened? Are you ok? You look like you've been crying.”

 

Peter looked startled but didn't move away. “I was. I'm fine. Nothing… I…” Peter reached up and Wade thought he was going to push his hands away but instead Peter just covered them with his own. “I'm going to college.”

 

Wade blinked. Had that ever come into question? He couldn't remember Peter ever saying that he was thinking of forgoing college. “Ok.”

 

“This fall.”

 

He nodded. Again, that had always been the plan as far as he knew. “For biochem, right?”

 

Peter smiled, “Yeah. I don't know what that'll mean for Spider-Man stuff yet, but I think it's something I need to do.”

 

“I'm sorry, Peter. I didn't realize you were ever second-guessing that. Of course I'll support whatever you choose to do, but you're so fucking smart that--”

 

“Babe.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Shut up and kiss me.”

 

Wade was happy to oblige, but apparently his gentle kiss wasn't what Peter had in mind. The teen surged against him and licked at Wade's lips until they parted. 

 

Eventually Peter took a half step back, panting for air. “I love you.”

 

“I noticed.” Wade smiled at Peter's annoyed expression. “I love you too.”

 

“Sit down.” Wade sat easily, and only pouted a little when Peter sat down on the other side of the couch, putting far too much space between them, so far as Wade was concerned. “I want to ask you something really important,” Peter explained, “and if you answer I need you to be honest with me.”

 

“If I answer?” He asked, trying to figure out what sort of question Peter might have that he'd preface that way. Probably nothing good.

 

“I'd prefer you tell me.” Peter was staring down at the floor, “But I understand if you can't. Or don't want to. Or whenever.”

 

He resisted the urge to promise to tell Peter whatever he wanted to know. “Ok. If I answer, I'll be honest.”

 

Wade watched as Peter looked back up, steeling himself for whenever he wanted to know. He felt his own anxiety start to rise, and White and Yellow started taking fucking bets on what sort of horrible thing Peter was about to ask of him.

 

“How do you decide who deserves to die?”

 

“I. What?”

 

Peter's feet were tapping a staccato against the floor, but he was determinedly still looking at him. “Like with jobs. You said you won't just take any job, regardless of the money. I want to know your criteria.”

 

Wade took a deep breath. This. This was not a conversation he wanted to happen. Ever. “That's…” Ok, he'd started talking, that was good start. Keep it up, Wade, you can do it. “That's a hard thing to answer. My criteria… it's probably not as cut and dry as you'd like.”

 

“Can you try to explain it?”

 

He nodded. “I need to  _ know _ that they're guilty. I need to know what they did that was so bad that someone was desperate enough to contact mercenaries for help.” He fought the urge to look away. If Peter wanted to look him in the eye while he talked about this, the least he could do was let him. 

 

“I almost never accept jobs from governments or corporations.”

 

“Almost never?” Peter asked.

 

“Like I said, it's not cut and dry. In general I don't trust organizations that put hits out on people. But I trust Weasel's judgement and if he tells me about one, I'll at least give it a look.”

 

“So, what kinds of things does someone need to do to be worth your time?”

 

Wade hesitated. Peter knew that the world could be a fucked up horrible place, but he wasn't sure he wanted to start offering examples of the worst he'd seen. “Violent crime,” he said instead. “Murder, rape, serial assault, domestic abuse. Shit like that.”

 

Peter's brow furrowed. He had a question. Wade waited until he figured out what he wanted to ask. “Have you, like… have you ever changed your mind?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Well, like, I've seen you. When you're fighting, and I assume it's similar when you're on jobs. You get kind of… single-minded. Have you ever gone after anyone and found out that they were innocent? Or that someone had at least exaggerated what they'd done?”

 

“Yes. Not often, but it has happened.”

 

“What did you do?”

 

“Left them alone. Or apologized, depending on when I found out. One guy I took to the hospital and paid for his medical bills. It was a good thing I had wanted to hurt him first.” Wade frowned, remembering. He'd been told that the man had killed his wife, only to arrive and find her perfectly healthy--and stupidly brave. He'd stabbed the man in the chest before she had gotten behind him and hit him over the head with… What  _ had _ she hit him with? He couldn't remember.

 

“So what, do you just leave, then?”

 

“I find the person who contracted me is what I do.”

 

“And kill them?”

 

“Eventually.” 

 

Peter's pale expression told him that he'd been a bit  _ too _ honest with that admission. But Peter had asked for the truth.

 

“I don't like being thought of as a weapon,” he explained. “I am one, of course, but the only one who gets to aim me is  _ me _ .” He'd meant to explain that calmly, but instead his words came out a bitter growl. 

 

Even though he didn't avert his gaze, Peter still flinched and sank back, trying for that little bit of extra distance.

 

“Sorry,” he said faintly. “I don't like scaring you.”

 

But Peter shook his head. “No. I asked you to tell me, and you did.” He could see Peter chewing at his lip. “You haven't taken any killing jobs in a while, though, right?”

 

“Right.”

 

“Do you miss it?” Peter asked.

 

_ Fuck. _ “You don't want the to answer that.”

 

“So yes?”

 

“So yes.”

 

“Because,” Peter started slowly. “Because you felt like you were making a difference. Righting wrongs and punishing people who deserved it, right?”

 

“That's--” How honest should he be? “That's part of it, yeah.”

 

Peter finally looked away, crossing his arms across himself. Wade wished he was in his hoodie, or at least something more than a t-shirt.

 

“What's the other part?”

 

“Peter…”

 

“What's the other part, Wade?” Peter's voice was sharp.

 

“You  _ know _ the other part.”

 

“I want to hear you say it.”

 

“No, you don't! You know how fucked in the head I am. What are you actually trying to figure out?”

 

Peter was refusing to meet his gaze, instead he was glaring at the floor and his fingers were digging into his arms. “You like hurting people,” he whispered. It wasn't a question.

 

“Not… I don't like hurting good people.”

 

“That's not what I meant. Hurting bad people. The actual… causing them pain part. You like that.”

 

“That's right.”

 

Peter looked like he was trying to make himself as small as possible, and it  _ hurt _ to see. Wade wanted to find every person who taught Peter that he should ever feel that way and-- No. Not the time for that train of thought. He dug his thumb into his leg, forcing himself to stay present.

 

It was a long moment before Peter spoke again. “Did you enjoy shooting me?”

 

Wade was pretty sure he could hear his mind grind to a halt. “What the  _ fuck _ , Peter? Why would you ever think--”

 

“Because!” Peter cut across him. “Because you said it was like you were on a job and I was a target! And you just told me that you enjoy hurting your targets! So. Did you?”

 

“I don't think so.” Peter finally looked at him again, but his eyes were wide and he looked… Wade couldn't pinpoint the expression. Confused? Afraid? Something else entirely?

 

“What does that mean?”

 

“It felt weird,” Wade explained, trying to keep his tone even and as non-threatening as he could. “Like I said, you weren't  _ you _ . Not-you was a target, which meant not-you was a bad person. But all the rest was missing.”

 

“The rest?”

 

“I couldn't remember why not-you was bad, or who had contracted me, or what my plan had been. And yeah, sometimes some of that falls to the wayside in the moment, but it's never just… gone.” He ran a hand over his head, a habit he didn't think he'd ever break. “I remember something like… satisfaction, when my first shot hit. Then frustration because not-you wouldn't stay down.” He closed his eyes, grasping at the dregs of memories. “The rest is kind of blurry, sorry.”

 

Peter relaxed for a moment before looking horrified. “Fuck, Wade, I'm so sorry.”

 

“For what?”

 

“For asking that! For even  _ thinking _ that you might have enjoyed hurting me. I know better. Christ I'm just a fucking awful--”

 

“You're not, Peter,” Wade said firmly. “I shot you. Of course that freaked you out and messed with you!”

 

Peter scooted across the couch, pressing his side up against Wade's. “Getting shot really sucks.”

 

Wade didn't mean to laugh, but he couldn't help it. He was saved from feeling guilty about it by Peter laughing with him. “No shit, kiddo. What did you think it would feel like?”

 

“I don't know. You get shot all the time and seem fine.”

 

“I'm glad I pull off looking fine.” He carefully reached over to brush across Peter's shoulder. “It hurts less when a bullet goes straight through you without breaking anything along the way.”

 

Peter hummed and leaned more heavily against Wade. “I'll keep that in mind next time someone is aiming a gun at me,” he said with a yawn.

 

“You tired, baby boy?”

 

“Mmm no.” Peter lied, his eyes slipping closed. Wade wondered what it was like to be able to fall asleep that easily.

 

* * *

 

**Peter**

 

Peter groaned and pushed himself away from his desk. He'd forgotten just how tedious college applications and filling out fucking FAFSA were. How the hell was he supposed to write any sort of meaningful personal statement in only 500 words anyway? ESU had already offered him scholarships, so why was this whole song and dance even necessary? He'd been editing and revising the stupid statement for the last few hours, trying to decide what to cut out, and what to keep in. 

 

“If you've already been accepted, why not just half-ass the application?” Wade asked. When he walked over he brought with him the delicious smell of grilled chicken and roasted vegetables. 

 

“I'm not half-assing anything,” Peter said, leaning his head back to prompt Wade for a kiss. “Thank you for making dinner.”

 

Wade hummed an acknowledgement. “Come eat. Refuse to phone in your application more later.”

 

Peter followed him back to the table. Now that he had pulled himself away from the computer screen he realized how much his eyes burned from staring at it for so long. 

 

“Aren't you supposed to take screen breaks? Like, 10 minutes every hour or something?” Wade asked after Peter rubbed at his eyes for the third time.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Were you doing that?”

 

“Obviously not,” Peter admitted.

 

“Naughty spider,” Wade smirked. “I'm gonna have to ground you from the computer if you keep that up.”

 

Peter snorted, “Shut up.”

 

“Make me.”

 

“Don't think I won't.”

 

It had been 3 days since they had finally talked about the things that had been bothering Peter--things he hadn't even realized had been bothering him. They still weren't patrolling together, but everything else was falling easily back into place. 

 

Despite the fact that Wade apparently didn't put much thought into buying groceries or eating well, he was a surprisingly good cook. Or maybe it wasn't all that surprising, all things considered. Wade seemed to be full of random skills that left Peter wondering what sort of life he'd lived before forgetting most of it.

 

After they ate Wade offered to look over Peter's paper. “Hey, Pete, what's this stuff about prosthetics manufacturing?”

 

“What about it?”

 

“You're saying in here that you worked on a project that lead to the creation of a non-profit division of Stark Industries that makes prosthetics using biotech?” 

 

“Uh-huh. Because I did, a couple of years ago.”

 

Wade just stared at him. “Are you still involved with it?”

 

“Sort of. I think I technically own part of it? But I don't actually-- What?”

 

More staring. “Are you secretly loaded?”

 

“Pfft, I wish. It's a charity, I don't make anything from it.”

 

“Why have you never mentioned it?”

 

Peter shrugged. “Because aside for the original project, like… my name's on it, but I don't really do anything? Hell, I quit being useful as soon as we got past the initial design phase, I don't know enough to help more.”

 

“I'm gonna learn all kinds of shit about you,” Wade muttered before returning his attention to the document.

 

An hour, and much debating back and forth, later, Peter still had 45 words too many. They gave up for the day and retreated to the couch to find something mindless to watch. 

 

Peter curled up with his head on Wade's lap as they settled on a cooking competition. He let his mind wander while idly watching the people scramble for ingredients and try to quickly compensate for any mistakes they made while they raced the clock.

 

“Hey Wade,” he started during a commercial break, “can I ask you a personal question?”

 

“Uuuh, sure? What kind of personal question?” The hand that had been slowly stroking his side stilled.

 

He could feel Wade tense against his head. “Not a murder-y question,” he explained quickly. “A sex one.”

 

“Oh!” Wade sounded much more interested now as he looked down at him, fingernails dragging along his ribs. “Of course, Petey-pie, what's on your mind?”

 

“Promise you won't laugh?” Peter asked, rolling so that he was on his back and could properly look up at his boyfriend.

 

Wade's expression turned serious, like, actually serious, rather than the mock-serious he tended to use when humoring someone. “I won't laugh. What's wrong?”

 

“Nothing's wrong. It's just probably a stupid question.” Wade just gave him an expectant look. “Have you, um, have you ever actually had sex with a guy before?”

 

“You mean besides you?” His fingers drummed against Peter's stomach.

 

“Huh?”

 

“You mean have I fucked a guy besides you, right?”

 

“I… We haven't had sex. I mean, not really.”

 

“Not really?” Wade repeated. “Not… What the fuck do you mean  _ not really _ ? What would you call it, then?” Peter hadn't expected Wade's frustrated outburst.

 

“I don't know,” he shrugged. “Handjobs and blowjobs are intimate, but they're not exactly--”

 

Wade covered his mouth. “Fuck it, we're sticking a pin in this conversation. I'm going to write it on the calendar for all our visitors to see that apparently you need a refresher course on what constitutes sex.” Peter felt himself blushing even as he grew irritated. “But for now, let me make sure I understand your question: you want to know if I've stuck my dick in a guy's ass before?”

 

“Yeah. Or I guess, had a dick in your ass?”

 

“Yes to both.”

 

“Oh. Huh. Does it, um.” Peter's brow furrowed, deciding what he wanted to ask. _What does it feel like? Does it hurt? Is it scary? Is it gross?_ He finally settled on, “Does it feel good?” 

 

“Which?”

 

“Both? Either?”

 

Wade shrugged, “In general, it depends on the person. Some people really enjoy it, some hate it, just like anything else.”

 

Peter narrowed his eyes at the avoidance, “Why are you being difficult?”

 

“I'm not.”

 

“Yes you are. You know I meant…” he let out an annoyed huff. “Do _ you _ like it?”

 

Wade licked his lips and took a deep breath before slowly answering. “Yeah, I do.”

 

Peter sat up, ignoring the thundering in his chest. He repositioned so that he could face Wade and reached out, brushing his thumb along his bottom lip. “So why not just say that?”

 

He could hear Wade's heart race, and his breathing shift. But it was anxiety, not arousal, that was sending his nervous system into overdrive. “Because I--” he started, but immediately cut himself off. 

 

He let his hand drop from Wade's face and instead curled his fingers around Wade's. He tried to be as patient as possible while waiting for his boyfriend to piece together what he needed to articulate.

 

“It's complicated.”

 

“I'm good at complicated,” Peter gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.

 

“Yeah, you are.” Wade smiled at him. “Look, it's… I'm older than you.” Peter scoffed but Wade's pointed look kept him from interrupting. “And that puts me in a difficult position.”

 

Peter wanted to argue that, no, it didn't, or at least that it didn't have to. But he needed to hear Wade out. He didn't want to do anything that made either of them uncomfortable and if just  _ talking _ about sex was stressing him out…

 

“Difficult how?”

 

“You and I  _ obviously _ think about sex differently. And I don't want… I don't want you to think that  _ any _ form of sex is like, a requirement or something. Or that you need to do anything just to make me happy, or that it's expected because we're in a relationship.” 

 

“You've… you've been worried about all that?” Peter asked quietly. 

 

Wade sighed. “Told you. Complicated.” He turned his hand over, returning Peter's affectionate squeezing. “If we agree to have sex, we're agreeing to fundamentally different things. And I know--trust me, I  _ know _ , that you don't do anything you don't want to do. But that doesn't stop me from worrying about it.”

 

Something warm that he couldn't name settled into Peter's chest. He mulled over the things Wade had said before leaning over and kissing him. “You're a good person, Wade Wilson.”

 

“No, I'm not,” Wade disagreed, “but I am trying.”

 

“Sex isn't a requirement,” Peter said, running a hand up and down Wade's thigh, “from either of us. But I know it's something you want to do, and it's something I want to do, too,” he explained slowly. “But regarding… what? Informed consent, I guess? I have some questions.”

 

Wade swallowed, “Ok.”

 

“Specifically I have questions about getting your dick inside me. Because that's definitely something I want to try.”

 

His eyes widened, “Ask away, baby boy.”

 

“You  _ do _ like that idea, then?” Wade nodded enthusiastically. “Good. Um.” Wade had said that he'd liked anal sex, but… “Does it hurt?”

 

“No. Well. It can. If there's not enough lube, or you go too fast, or if you aren't relaxed enough. But there's nothing inherent about anal sex that means it's going to hurt.”

 

Peter felt himself deflate in relief. 

 

“It  _ will _ probably be uncomfortable, though, at first.” 

 

Peter's eyes snapped back up at the warning. “Uncomfortable how?”

 

“Like… pressure? And we'd be stretching your muscles so that can burn if we're not careful--so an absurd amount of communication is going to be necessary, ok?”

 

“Ok.”

 

“Also it's probably going to feel like you have to shit.”

 

Peter made a face and his hand stilled on Wade's knee. “Sexy.”

 

Wade laughed at his grimace, “It's not like your body is used to anything else happening down there.”

 

He frowned, trying to reconcile the idea of being horny while also feeling like he needed to poop. “Wait. Does that mean… When you, uh, pull out, is it going to feel like…”

 

“It's pretty similar, yeah.” He wasn't even sure what kind of face he made at that, but it sent Wade into a proper laughing fit.

 

“Remember when you said you weren't going to laugh at my questions?” Peter complained.

 

“I'm sorry. If it helps that feeling goes away pretty quickly.” Wade tried to stifle his giggles. “Please keep asking questions,” He said once he'd mostly gotten himself back under control. 

 

He pulled his hands back into his lap and chewed on his lip. He should probably have more questions, he knew. Or he should have done more research than just looking at porn, since thus far porn hadn't been a terribly accurate representation of the things he and Wade had done.

 

“How, uh. How does it work?” He stumbled out. “I mean, I've seen your dick and…”

 

“I'm not just going to grab you and shove my dick in you, if that's what you're worried about.”

 

“Good. I mean! I know that! But even going really slowly… You're huge, how is that  _ not _ going to hurt.”

 

Wade muttered  _ “This fucking country,” _ and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sorry, Pete, I just kind of assumed… nevermind. We wouldn't  _ start _ with my dick.”

 

“Oh.” Huge relief twice in one conversation. “What would we start with then?”

 

“That depends on what you're most comfortable with.” At Peter's confused expression he continued, “We could use our fingers, or vibrators, or hell, they make things like dildos and buttplugs for the specific purpose of easing your body into it.”

 

He fought the urge to giggle at the word  _ buttplug _ , because he wasn't 12, damn it. “That's good, and all, but… it sounds like of... clinical.”

 

“It doesn't have to be,” Wade said easily. “It can definitely still be super sexy and romantic.”

 

“But not really spontaneous.”

 

“Nope,” Wade agreed. “If you want spontaneous sex there's  _ plenty _ of other things we can do. Like, dozens. Off the top of my head I've got… like 8. But anal sex isn't going to be one of them.”

 

Peter hummed and moved Wade's arm so that he could tuck himself against his side. “You never really answered one of my questions.”

 

“I didn't?” Wade wrapped his arm around Peter's waist. “Which one?”

 

“Does it feel good?”

 

Wade huffed, “I did answer that. For a lot of people, yeah, it feels great. Myself included. I fucking love it. But not everyone's the same. Hopefully it'll feel amazing for you, too.”

 

“What if it doesn't?”

 

“Then we'll stop, reassess and try again. And if it never feels good, then we don't have to do it.” He kissed the side of Peter's head, “If you want you can stick your dick in me instead.”

 

Peter giggled, pressing himself closer. “Sounds good.”

 

* * *

 

Peter was sitting cross-legged on the bed, positively vibrating. He was a ball of tightly wound emotions and energy--nerves, excitement, apprehension--there was no way in hell he was going to manage to sit still anytime soon.

 

“Spidey, if you don't calm down you're going to give yourself a heart attack,” Wade warned as he sat down, setting a box down next to him. He batted at Peter's hand as soon as he reached for it. 

 

“Not gonna give myself a heart attack.” But he couldn't help dissolving into a fit of giggles. It would be a terrible way to die, of course, but the potential headlines were hilarious. Spider-Man found dead from heart attack. Overly excited by prospect of getting dicked down by local mercenary.

 

“Are you ok?” Wade asked once Peter had managed to suppress the worst of his laughter, but he couldn't stop the wide grin on his face.

 

“Yep, I'm great. Fantastic. Happy. Excited. Nervous? Yeah, a little nervous, but like, good nervous. Excited. Wait, already said that, um…”

 

Wade gave him a fond, if exasperated, smile. “Ok, the box is going over here,” he moved the box over to the bedside table, “until you calm down.”

 

Peter whined until Wade laid down next to him, dragging Peter down with him. “I'm glad you're excited,” Wade said, pressing kisses along the side of Peter's face. “But there's something to be said for relaxing and enjoying the moment, too.”

 

“I can do both.” Peter rolled onto his side so that he could face Wade, stretching his legs out. “I like when we're both naked like this.”

 

Wade chuckled against his mouth. “So, every night?”

 

“Well, yeah, that too. But it's the middle of the afternoon, and we're not going to sleep anytime soon… I assume.”

 

“You assume correctly.” One of Wade's rough hands traveled slowly from Peter's shoulder, down his side, stilling on his hip. Peter shuddered at the contact, his fingers twitching from the effort to not wiggle away. “You ok?”

 

“Yeah. It,” he frowned, trying to figure out how to describe it. “It didn't tickle, really. Felt weird.”

 

“Good weird?”

 

“Don't know. Not bad weird, though. Do it again?”

 

When he repeated the motion the sensation felt less intense. He still twitched a little, but the urge to pull away was much more subdued.

 

“Good weird,” he decided. He moved his own hands up along Wade's chest, his arms, his sides. He tried not to think too hard about the fact that he didn't really know what he was doing. Wade wasn't complaining about his admittedly clumsy attempts though, so it couldn't be too bad.

 

He gasped and jerked when Wade ran a single fingertip along his dick, base to tip. “Good to see that he's interested in joining us today.”

 

“Yeah,” Peter breathed, closing his eyes as Wade started stroking him with slow barely-there touches. 

 

That had been a point of anxiety, because Wade had told him in no uncertain terms that if he wasn't aroused, they wouldn't be trying anything. Peter's complaints had been met with the assurance that, “If you're not horny, at best it's just going to be weird and uncomfortable. My goal is more like... mind-blowing orgasm, so.” Peter had snorted and agreed.

 

“Feels good,” he murmured. “Can I see what's in the box now?” He asked, opening his eyes.

 

“You calm now?”

 

“No.” Peter pushed into Wade's hand. “Less hyper, though.”

 

“Good enough. I need my hand back though.”

 

Peter sighed, “I mean, I guess so.” He still pouted at the loss of contact.

 

He sat up when Wade retrieved the box. The first thing that Wade passed to him was a bottle of lube. On instinct he turned it over and started reading over the ingredients. 

 

“Gonna go into the lube business next?”

 

Peter met his smirk with one of his own, “Maybe.”

 

He quickly set the lube aside when Wade pulled the next item out and handed it over. The toy was smooth, and almost soft to the touch. Thin and maybe three inches at most, with a slight taper along the length, getting wider at the base. It had a ring at bottom that Wade used to spin it around his finger when he passed it back. 

 

It didn't look all that daunting until he thought about what they were planning to do with it. His anxiety must have shown on his face because Wade quit spinning the toy and reached out to cup his face with his other hand. “Hey, we don't have to do anything if you don't feel up to it.”

 

“I'm fine,” Peter assured him. “Just… good nervous, remember? What else is in the box?”

 

Wade held out the box itself for Peter to look into. 4 other toys of similar design were nestled together, each one slightly longer and thicker than the last. He reached in and picked up the largest, glancing between it and Wade's own half-hard length. “Um.” It was longer than Wade's dick, he was pretty sure, but it also wasn't quite as thick. He tried to imagine it fitting inside him and--

 

“Peter?”

 

“Huh?”

 

“Are you freaking yourself out?”

 

“Yes,” he admitted, dropping the largest toy back into the box. 

 

“We'll consider those later,” Wade said, dropping the box to the floor. “For right now, this.” He flipped the smallest toy in his hand, and Peter was briefly reminded of a similar movement he'd seen Wade do with a knife. His dick twitched at the thought--something to unpack later.

 

“So, um,” he focused on Wade's face rather than the toy in his hand, “what… or, I guess, how…” he let out a frustrated huff as his sentences died in his throat. 

 

“Lay down however you're most comfortable.” Thank God Wade was so good at reading him. 

 

“Is on my back ok?”

 

“Yep.”

 

Wade grabbed a pillow to shove under his hips, gently guided Peter's legs further apart so that he could settle between them. Peter felt his face go red and he dropped an arm over his eyes.

 

“What's wrong, baby boy?”

 

“Nothing. Just.” He waved his other hand in the air, “It's kind of embarrassing.”

 

“Ah. That's ok.” Wade pressed a kiss to his knee before mouthing a hot wet trail along his thigh. His stomach clenched when he felt Wade's breath on his dick. He didn't immediately register that the high pitched gasp he'd heard had come from him. 

 

“Would you rather I didn't?”

 

“No. I uh.” Peter made himself look down. “Please do.”

 

Wade grinned and Peter let his head fall back as Wade started licking up his shaft. He swirled his tongue around the head before slowly taking him into his mouth.

 

“Holy shitfuck,” Peter gasped eloquently, earning an amused hum from Wade. It was definitely hard to be embarrassed when what Wade was doing felt so fucking good. 

 

He heard the click of a lid and glanced down again. “‘Cha doing?”

 

Wade pulled off of him with a pop. “Multi-tasking.” He tensed when he felt Wade's thumb rubbing lube around his hole. 

 

Peter closed his eyes and tried to focus on relaxing. He took deep breaths, in and out. It helped that Wade didn't seem to be in any sort of hurry. His hands would drift away, touching other places, his balls, his legs, his dick, before returning to lightly massage the ring of muscle.

 

He wasn't sure how long it took until he stopped tensing up whenever a finger brushed against him, but Wade kept up a steady stream of praise (and occasional lewd suggestion) until Peter had started pressing back against his thumb.

 

“Excited to feel something inside you?” Wade murmured against his leg.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Ok. Give me just a second.” He listened as Wade lubricated the toy. “We're gonna go real slow, ok?”

 

“Ok,” Peter agreed. “I wish we had a mirror.”

 

Wade paused, “What for?”

 

“I kinda want to watch. Know what it looks like--” 

 

He was interrupted by Wade laughing at him. “Fuck, and here I've been thinking that  _ I'm _ the kinky one.”

 

“Shut up! I'm not being kinky I'm just,” he paused. “Wait, is that kinky?”

 

Wade snorted at him, “Little bit, yeah.” The cap clicked closed. “You good?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

The tip of the felt different than Wade's thumb, and he was glad that he didn't need to ask Wade to just hold it at his entrance for a few moments.

 

He gasped as it started sliding into him. The glide was slow and nearly frictionless, he could see how this might feel good.

 

“Hang on,” Peter whimpered when he felt himself clench down, his body rejecting the intrusion.

 

“Does it hurt?”

 

“No. Just need a second.” Wade's free hand made soft soothing circles against his stomach until he managed to relax enough to nod at Wade to continue.

 

After two more short pauses the small toy was snuggly inside him. “Ta-da! Like magic it's disappeared!”

 

Peter laughed, which made trying to hold still to adjust the sensation of something inside him more difficult. “Fuck you,” he said with a grin.

 

“Oh, that's definitely on the list of things we're gonna do, baby boy, just you wait,” Wade purred. “For now, how does that feel?”

 

“Weird?” He offered. “Not bad. Uh. Like.” He shifted, trying to think of anything to compare it to. “Pressure, I guess. It felt really good when you were putting it in.”

 

“Good,” he loved hearing the smile in Wade's voice. “How do feel about me pulling it back out?”

 

“Is it gonna feel weird?”

 

“Probably for the first few times, but then it should stop.”

 

Feeling as mentally prepared as he was likely to get, Peter nodded. He must have made a face at the sensation because while Wade didn't laugh this time, he could feel him shaking with the effort to suppress it.

 

Wade didn't pull the toy all of the way out before sliding it back in. And he was right, after the first few thrusts it stopped feeling as strange, and mostly just felt nice. Especially once Wade was able to regularly brush the toy against his prostate.

 

It wasn't long before he was panting and moaning at the feeling, his hands digging into the sheets to keep himself from grabbing his cock. He didn't want to come yet, didn't want this to be over.

 

“Wade?”

 

“Yeah?” Wade replied breathlessly, obviously not unaffected by Peter's reactions.

 

“Can, uh. Could we… Bigger?”

 

Wade stilled the toys movements, making sure the tip was pressed against Peter's prostate. “I don't know. It's not as small as a jump as you think it is right now.” 

 

Peter whined, “No, c'mon, please,” he begged. “If it's too much I'll tell you, I promise, but fuck, please, I want--”

 

“Ok, ok, you win.” Wade let go of the toy, careful not to dislodge it, as he reached over the side of the bed, muttering a curse at having tossed it to the floor earlier. A moment later and he dragged himself back up, wearing a triumphant grin and lust-blown eyes.

 

“You might just be the death of me,” Wade said fondly as Peter watched him slick up the second toy. A tiny thrill of anxiety returned, but it was easily overshadowed by his own lust and enthusiasm. “Gonna have to slow things down for a few minutes, at least.”

 

“I mean, you don't  _ have _ to--”

 

“Peter,” Wade said sharply.

 

“Ok, slowly it is.” Peter agreed, laying his head back down and trying to spread his legs as much as he could.

 

“I am glad your enjoying this so much,” he said as he started pushing the new toy inside him. 

 

Peter was glad that Wade was insistent on going slowly. The first inch or so was no issue but it wasn't long until he could feel the burn off the toy stretching him. “Ah. Wait.”

 

“Too much?”

 

“No,” it was only the concern evident in Wade's voice that kept him from feeling more contrary. “Ok, I'm good.”

 

It took a lot longer before the second toy was comfortably seated. “Happy?” Wade asked.

 

“Very happy,” Peter hummed. “And at no point did it hurt,” he assured Wade quickly.

 

“You sure?”

 

Peter shifted his hips, slowly grinding down against the toy. “Very sure. Please move.”

 

He wanted to be frustrated by the slow pace Wade was setting, but damn if feeling the drag of every centimeter of the toy against him wasn't its own kind of heaven.

 

And slowly but surely Wade brought him back to the edge, held him there as he panted and thrashed, both desperate to come but also never wanting it to end. The choice was made for him when Wade's hand wrapped around his dick, stroking him until he all but blacked out from the force of his orgasm.

 

He was next aware of Wade kissing him and the slide of Wade's cock against his leg. 

 

“Can you,” his breath caught when Wade brushed against his over sensitive dick. ”Can you come from that?”

 

“Gonna try.”

 

Peter kissed him back, snaking his hand between them to tightly circle his fingers around Wade's cock. He moaned in appreciation at having something to thrust into. 

 

“Fuck, I love you Peter.”

 

“I noticed.”

 

Wade buried his face in Peter's shoulder as he came. He collapsed bonelessly to the side, breathing hard, his arms moving up to hold Peter tightly against him.

 

“So,” Peter said, once his breathing and calmed and he was settled into the warm comfort of Wade wrapped protectively around him.

 

“Hmm?”

 

“You want me to fuck you sometime?”

 

Wade chuckled, “Mmhmm.”

 

“So I'll get to be using these on you, then?”

 

“Mmm, if you want,” he said lazily.

 

“What does that mean?”

 

“Means if you want to, we can. Don't need to. C'n just use fingers.”

 

Peter blinked, “You sure? I mean, when was the last time…?”

 

Wade sighed softly. “Been a while. Go slow. One finger at a time. No big deal.” He lifted his head up slightly, “How are you so awake right now?”

 

“Just am. If it's no big deal, why go through all this trouble for me?”

 

“No trouble,” Wade buried his face into Peter's neck. “Want you to have a good experience.”

 

Peter grinned, rubbing his cheek against Wade's head. “So far so good on that account. Can we do that again soon?”

 

“If you let me take a nap we can do it again later tonight.”

 

Peter smiled and settled down, shifting so he could press his leg closer to Wade. “Deal.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Up next! More FrostIron goodness. Which will also include some more angst. BUT, after that there will be two fics of just...fluff and smut and cuteness. Gotta get plot and feelings and stuff under control, first. Then christmas-time goodness. That hopefully won't actually take me until December to write. :P
> 
> * * *
> 
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> HMU if you wanna chat or w/e. :)


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